Avalanche
by sam938
Summary: Jack's numb and way too busy. Written at the end of season 8.


Title: Avalanche

Author: Sam938

E-mail:

Rating: PG 13 some swearing.

Summary: Jack's numb and way too busy.

Classification: Stargate sg1. Sam/Jack

Spoilers: Set 6 months into season 9. No spoilers for 9 that I know of except sheer accident because 9 just didn't work for me.

Archive: SJD; SJFic.

Disclaimers: Don't own them, didn't create them, and this is purely for fun and not profit.

Status: Complete.

Feedback: Yes, thanks! I'd very much appreciate it.

Notes: Word of the Week challenge for "solitude". Written at the end of season8, if I remember correctly.. sigh.

Jack O'Neill stumbled sleepily into his DC apartment at 0200 after finally figuring out how to put the key in the lock of the door. That accomplished, he set said keys and his briefcase down on the table next to the entrance. Then he took off his gloves and coat, brushing off the snow, and threw the whole soggy mess onto the hanger next to the door. He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them, seeing as they seemed to have gone numb in the five minutes from the car to the complex's door. Jeez, it was cold. The snow here wasn't like Colorado snow; light, puffy, glistening and gone in a day. Instead, it was wet bone-chilling ice that seemed to hang around forever. He ran his hands through his hair, brushing out the flakes, and then over his eyes, all the while savoring the solitude of the space around him. His apartment was as far away from work he ever got these days. He supposed it was a haven of sorts.

He missed Colorado. Strange but still true considering he'd spent most of his life elsewhere. But Colorado was home now even though he was stationed in D.C. He missed the light, the blue alpine skies, the crisp air of the mountains, and the foothills. D. C. was probably great, as far as cities went, and sure, maybe there might be some outdoor stuff that would be interesting. But it wasn't the alpine mountain meadows of Colorado or the sparkling lakes of Minnesota. It just was.

And right now what it was, was a grey, icy mess of darkness. Of course, given that he'd been up for 42 hours and had just spent the last 45 minutes navigating through a snowstorm of major proportions, his perspective might be just a tad off. Truth was, he had no time to see any of any of DC or it's environs, anyway. He wasn't being fair to the place.

Things had been so busy since he'd gotten here that he'd never really adjusted. Just worked. He'd never gotten a feel for the city. Of course, he hadn't really been here long enough to try.

Another thing he'd left undone. There'd been a lot of those lately.

He sighed, thinking. The day had been pretty much like he'd expected they'd be when he'd taken on this insane but necessary assignment. Meetings. Lots of meetings. Lots of endless discussion. Serious stuff from the mucky-mucks' perspectives; they saw billons of dollars, literally, on the table. Serious stuff from his perspective as well, but he saw the meaning of it all in terms of military strategy and how to accomplish goals but still mitigate personnel risk and lost lives.

He wasn't saving the world directly these days, but he was still in the game; he still needed to try.

And so, they argued. Just like today, which was like every other day since he'd gotten here. He'd known even before he'd accepted the promotion that he was going to have to play that game. Trouble was he wasn't sure he knew the moves, or even the pieces. He might be military; but he wasn't Washington. He wasn't sure he ever would be.

Damned if he didn't miss Kinsey. At least he knew where the man stood. The current situation was too grey for his liking.

Carrolton was a good example -- the man's agenda was a complete mystery-- he changed patterns as rapidly as a coyote looking for the scent. Carrolton rambled around in meetings, unclear and distracted, and then once a large-scale question came into focus, suddenly started spouting articulate dogma, his eye on some sort of prize.

Jack grimaced. Actually, what he ought to do is figure out which one of the Senator's aides or speechwriters was feeding him the articulate dogma, and get Davis to recruit him or her to the Pentagon.

Yeah. Carrolton would end up lost in the weeds, and the Pentagon would get a good writer out of the mess. Definitely a plan.

Besides, it wasn't fair to compare Carrolton to a coyote. He liked coyotes; they were smart, sensible survivors. Carrolton was just a sycophant -- jeez, now he starting to borrow Daniel's vocabulary. "Sycophant" indeed. He really was tired. Next thing he knew he'd be "negotiating compromises", or whatever the hell it was that Daniel did. He needed to get a grip.

He rubbed his eyes again, and then loosened his tie.

And then froze, instantly alert.

There were sounds coming from his study. He pulled back against the wall and waited, listening. It sounded like the clicking noise of someone operating a keyboard. But that was impossible. There should be nothing except silence like there was every night.

Damn. He wished he still carried a P90 these days instead of a pen.

He headed down the hall silently. He could see from underneath the closed door that the study lights were muted but on.

He shrugged, thinking it through. Whoever it was, had gone to a lot of trouble to talk to him and was clearly determined to do so. Whoever it was also thought the conversation needed privacy and wasn't out to kill him just yet or they'd have done so already. He hadn't been exactly focused when he got home.

Hell with it. He re-straightened his tie, put on his best "General" expression, and opened the door.

He didn't quite remember what he'd done next, and never could after. All he could remember is that he just stood in the doorway, stunned.

"Carter?"

God, she was beautiful.

She looked up, smiling, relaxing in his favorite chair, her feet on the ottoman in front of it, a laptop in her lap and a beer in her hand. She was wearing some sort of filmy thing; not her usual style of jeans or BDUs. He didn't know what to make of that; Carter in BDUS had always been spectacularly beautiful in his eyes; this was just…huh.

She raised her beer in a sort of salute and shut down the laptop, moving it to the table next to her.

"Welcome home."

Jack regrouped, still staring. She shouldn't be here. The last time he thought about where she was, which was about thirty minutes ago, she was supposed to be in Colorado and scheduled for a mission tomorrow. Definitely not scheduled to be in his DC apartment, relaxing, or even on leave.

He hadn't even seen her since he'd been transferred to DC, and that had been six months ago. The last time he'd actually talked to her had been three months ago right after she moved back to Colorado from Area 51. There'd been no opportunity to talk. Technically, she didn't report to him anymore. She was still officially stationed at 51, on loan to the SGC and to Landry. So while Hank and the SGC were under his Command, Carter's review papers went through Jemez, who ran 51 and the other science labs. There'd been no reason for communication.

But none of that stopped the warmth he felt coursing through his body, almost taking the DC chill out of his bones. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her. God, he was glad to see her. He crushed the thought and tried to crush the grin that he couldn't quite stop, and then flopped down in what he thought of as his "visitor" chair, still absorbing the situation. The fact was she shouldn't be here. There must be something serious happening, something that required her to show up outside of the regular channels, unexpected and unannounced. He swallowed and loosened his tie once again, imagining all sorts of dire problems.

She grinned at him.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking. Ok, this was just weird. Carter grinning usually didn't equate with "dire." But stranger things had happened.

"Is everything all right?"

"Of course."

He couldn't quite take it in. "Really OK? I mean, seriously OK? I -- uhh... no major end of the universe stuff…no infiltrations by other governments or the NID or some new seriously bad guys?"

"Nope. Well, nothing more than you already know."

He cocked his head at her, questioning. "So…no need to…?"

".. break into your apartment and appear unannounced in the middle of the night?"

He grimaced, looked at his watch, and then cocked his head, questioning. "Well, yeah. Beyond 51 and Cheyenne Mountain, I think this Complex might be one of the most secure places on the planet. So, why did you … uhh… and how did you...?"

He gestured with his hands, imitating the break in of a lock, and left the sentence unfinished. If there was a new Watergate, or potential security breach of massive proportions, Carter would let him know. Maybe that was why she was here.

She broke into his meanderings. "Piece of cake."

He thought about that, now seriously worried, his good mood of earlier completely dissipated, the chill back in his bones. "Huh. So, you managed to infiltrate the computer system and pick the locks…"

She shifted her feet on the ottoman and then took another sip of beer, not quite meeting his eye. "Nope. Just told the airman in the lobby that I was a very good friend and had forgotten my keys."

"Oh, hell." No Watergate. No major problem of massive proportions, just an idiot airman who didn't have the sense god gave a chicken. And, damned if he wasn't actually embarrassed. No, of course he wasn't. He hadn't been seriously embarrassed in … his lifetime. No need to start now. He was just seeing ...red.

She shrugged and raised an eyebrow at him. "She seemed to consider that to be normal and waved me to the elevator; even escorted me up and opened the door."

She paused, and then smirked. "Just what have you been doing out here, General?"

He bristled, annoyed that he felt the need to defend himself, and then suddenly realized she was teasing him, her blue eyes sparkling, waiting for his response.

"Not what you're suggesting. And she's history tomorrow." He let his head fall back on the chair's headrest and closed his eyes; then opened one slightly to see her reaction.

She grinned. "As well she should be."

"Yeah." He couldn't agree more. He didn't want any misunderstandings between them. At least, none that weren't of their own making.

Jeez… Carter in Washington. No end of the world stuff, no dire emergencies, no nothing. Apparently, she had just come to see him. It was a lot to take in.

"So.. you mind if I get one of those?" He gestured towards her drink.

"Of course not."

"Fine."

He rambled into his own kitchen, wondering just why he'd asked her if he could, grabbed a beer, took off his jacket, tie and shoes and then headed back to the "visitors chair". She was in his, after all. Didn't seem like the time to object, though. She just smiled again when he returned.

He took a sip of the beer, wondering if he'd finally lost it. This was all too much like what he'd fantasized. Carter in DC, sitting in .. well .. maybe not in his favorite chair in his fantasies, unless he was in it as well, nonetheless, still there, smiling at him. He wasn't going to even get into the part that usually came next. It was imagination after all.

He leaned back and took another sip of beer. "So…I….uhh… Carter, why are you here? Not that that's not great, of course, but …" He couldn't let it go. The whole situation made no sense.

She shrugged her shoulders, as if the question was unnecessary and the answer obvious. "I'm here because I belong here."

He coughed, swallowing badly, and leaned forward, his hands on his knees. "Excuse me?"

He could not have heard her correctly because she looked completely calm and relaxed. And he knew for a fact that the Sam Carter he knew would never show up in his favorite chair, drinking a beer, declaring implied ownership of anything that was his.

At least he thought he did. Maybe he'd been wrong about that too. He'd been wrong about a lot lately after all. Somehow the last thought didn't depress him as much as it usually did.

Carter cocked her head, and he couldn't tell if her expression was amused or exasperated. Knowing her, it was probably both. He waited for an answer or at least a repeat of her original comment, but she just took another sip of beer.

Yeah, so, he was definitely confused. Nothing new in that. Carter had always confused him.

He tried again. "You're scheduled for a mission tomorrow on P3X -- whatever, with SG1 at 0800, not scheduled to be in DC in my study at," he paused and glance at his watch, "0240."

She seemed interested in his comment, a lot more than he thought was called for. It was just an observation, after all.

"How did you know I was scheduled for a mission tomorrow morning?"

Well, that was easy. "I'm the Head of Homeworld Security, Carter. I'm supposed to know that kind of stuff. I spend enough time reading the paperwork, anyway."

"You're also a Major General with an NAF under your command. Do you know what the other 3700 or so people who work for you are scheduled to do tomorrow morning?"

"Generally."

"Cute."

He rubbed his eyes, wondering why the late hour and the conversation didn't seem to make her as tired as he felt. She just looked… hell, she looked fabulous, wonderful, beautiful, and just looking at her, he realized that he could never keep up. But he'd always known that. Still, he'd never quite felt his age as much as he did right now, seeing her so alive, so glistening. But that was his problem, not hers.

He shook his head and got back to the point, or rather her point or whatever point they were considering at nearly 0300. Points…yeah.

"Carter, the point is SG1's a flagship operation. I know what you're up to, even if I don't keep track of 99 of the rest of the riff-raff."

She stared at him, clearly considering what he now thought of as "his point".

"Okay, I'll buy that with some caveats. So here's a question. What's McKay doing tomorrow?"

That was easy too. "Haven't a clue. Hopefully not eating lemons, but what do I know. Maybe Weir has finally broken and spiked his tea, not that I'd blame her. He's her problem, after all."

She stared him down. "McKay is your senior scientist on the Atlantis project."

"So?"

She raised her eyes to the ceiling. "So…you don't know where he's supposed to be tomorrow morning."

"I think I just said that."

She put down the beer and put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees, and rubbed her eyes. She finally looked up again. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but sometimes you are just so …"

"So… what? I'm what?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

"I do?"

"Don't. Just stop right there. It'll be easier on both of us."

"I - "

She held up her hand. "Ah. No. Not this time, Jack."

He waited. Silently. After the last six months, he'd perfected the art. He'd thought he'd been a pro at silence before Washington, after all of his Black Ops work, but it turned out that piece of his life had only been the beginning of the process of learning when to shut up. The stint in Washington had made all the difference.

And so, he waited, as if he had all the time in the galaxy at his disposal.

She finally broke the silence. "You said you'd always be there for me."

That was a given, and something that really mattered to him. He stared at her, hoping she understood. "I did and I am."

"So, since when has the definition of 'always' included avoidance?"

"Since I said it? " He cringed even as he made the comment. This was obviously so not the time for joking, but he just couldn't stop himself.

She seemed to understand his inadequacies, however, because she just shook her head and raised her eyebrows at him, grimacing. "Damn it, Jack. I'm serious. It's been six months since we've seen each other; three since we'd even had a conversation."

Huh. So she was counting too. That was interesting. "I--"

She wouldn't let him interrupt as she continued. "We need to talk." She paused, and shifted. "That's why I'm here."

"Ah."

"Ah?" She shifted back in his, well now, her chair, waiting.

He had to admit that she did have a point. "Ah" was pretty inadequate as conversation went. But each time he'd had a conversation with Sara that had started with "we need to talk" it'd ended unresolved and difficult. And Sara was pretty much the sum total of his experience in serious relationships with women, with the exception of Carter, and they didn't have a relationship, really, which he supposed was her point. Damn, he was not good at this stuff.

He rubbed his face and dredged up some courage, whatever he had left. She deserved some answers, even as faulty as they may be.

"Sam, I don't know where the last six months have gone. I can't remember much of it. The move, the promotion… wasn't what I expected, not that I really expected anything, but what I did expect wasn't what happened."

He paused, thinking. "Well, hell, that's not strictly true. Maybe I did expect a lot of what happened, but it was originally part of my risk assessment of 'it couldn't possibly get that bad', because I flat out refuse to call Washington politics a 'worst case' scenario, even if it is. Anyway the 'couldn't be that bad' scenario came true, and I've been trying to cope with that."

He stopped, remembering the "shut up when you're rambling rule" Washington had taught him. "I -- hell, I'm sorry. It's obvious even to me that I'm not making much sense, but I've been up for about 43 hours now and as much as I'd like my adrenaline to kick in, it's been on call so much lately that it recognizes 'end of the world' scenarios and 'Jack's life' issues as two different things and refuses to get involved in the 'Jack stuff'. Pisses me off as well. I'm sorry if I'm not very coherent here but the fact is the --

"Jack, stop. It's ok, really." She reached out and put her hand on his arm. Somehow, that was more comforting than anything that had happened to him lately.

"Really?"

That had to be impossible, and yet, she was grinning again.

"Yep, really." The grin turned into a full-blown smile as she reacted. "That has got to be the most inarticulate explanation I've ever heard, especially coming from a Major General who by all accounts has taken the Pentagon by storm, increased SGC's budget twofold in less than a year, convinced the President, Pentagon and Congress to authorize many, many millions, in fact a billion some, to build a fleet of starships without line-iteming the expenses, and by all accounts is one of the most careful political players in the Pentagon game right now. Rumor has it that this guy also is known for being the 'classic' General; well- poised, to the point, careful with his positioning and his language, but still a no-nonsense adversary who understands the underlying science of the Stargate and new programs and who can knock an opponent on their ass verbally, and apparently literally, when things get messy."

She cocked her head again. "At least, that's what I've heard. Not that I know much of the specifics. It's rumor, of course."

He was completely stunned. "That's the rumor?"

"Yep."

He looked at her suspiciously, not quite able to take it in. "You know it's all bullshit, right?"

She grinned. "The allocations are fact. And I have no doubts about your ability to knock someone on their ass, sir."

"Don't." He reacted, uncomfortable, as he realized that it was the first time she'd used that word all night. He never wanted to hear it again from her.

She seemed to know what he was asking. "Sorry. Habit. But for the rest, I do believe a lot of it. I do have my doubts about the being able to be 'careful with positioning and language part'."

"Not the science piece?"

She smiled. "Nope. I knew a long time ago that you were bullshitting on not understanding the broad goals of that one."

He started to interrupt, but she grabbed his hand, and stopped his movement. "Jack, I said the broad goals, not the specifics. You really do have to be an astrophysicist to get the detail."

He grabbed her hand back, enjoying the luxury of holding even just that part of Carter, of the connection. "The science is from you, you know, and the language, well, maybe I did listen to Daniel occasionally. He's admittedly annoying, but hard to ignore, after eight years."

She leaned towards him and grabbed his other hand as well. "So that's all that's been going on? You've been working non-stop?"

"I -- yeah. More like trying to swim through the avalanche as it's crashing down around me. I just hope somebody put a locater beacon in the briefcase, because some days I think I'm never going to see the light of day again. They're going to have to dig me out."

"That bad?" She rubbed her thumb across the top of his hand. He stared at it, watching the motion. It was somehow incredibly comforting.

"Trust me. 'Cruising a blue' it ain't. More like skiing multiple runs down double black diamonds out of bounds when you're knees aren't what they used to be. Guaranteed disaster just waiting to happen."

She smiled. "Good to know."

He stared at her, startled to see the sparkle in her eyes. "Good? Thanks a lot, Carter. Delighted to know you're enjoying my panic."

She shook her head, denying the comment. "Sorry. I just meant that I was .. well. We all were worried that maybe you hadn't been in contact because…anyway, never mind. It's not important."

It sounded pretty important to him, and it also seemed like he was close to getting an answer to what made her decide to show up in DC.

"Give, Carter."

She gritted her teeth and wrinkled her nose, thinking. He grinned; some things never changed. Carter's expressions when getting ready to tell him something important that she was nervous about was clearly one of them. He waited. She'd tell him when she was ready.

"Jack, it's just that no one…" she swallowed and then continued. "It's just that I hadn't heard from you. With all the stories of how well you've been doing out here, I thought maybe you'd …"

"I'd what?"

She sighed. "Moved on, okay? You know, realized that there were more interesting things in the universe than astrophysics."

He stared at her, stunned that she could have mistaken his actions so completely, and then realized that it was his own fault after all. It wasn't his actions, but his lack of action that had left her confused. She deserved better. They both did. It was suddenly the most important thing in the universe to him that she understood what he felt.

"Not possible. I care a lot about astrophysics."

"Good to hear." But she didn't sound certain, more resigned than anything else, and more to the point, she wouldn't meet his gaze. She started to get up. "Well, I better get--"

And suddenly, it felt like the whole damned avalanche was cascading down and he was never going to come up for air again. If she left now, he'd suffocate in a colorless darkness of pure white, drowning.

He stood up as well, grabbed her hands between his and interrupted. "Sam, look at me."

She shrugged. "It's alright, really. I understand."

Damn. He was just so damnedbad at this. "No, it's not alright, but I want to try to fix it. I haven't 'moved on', or rethought anything, I don't have 'concerns about commitment', as McKinsie would call it, and none of that Freudian stuff is a problem. I'm over my marriage's disintegration, and I'm not having weird dreams or anything, except about Carrolton and coyotes and that's when I'm awake."

"The truth is, Sam, I--" he swallowed and then continued, "the problem is just that I'm an ass. I'm used to living alone; solving my own problems. Always have been. Even when I was married, I couldn't talk about things, and I just -- when I got here, I just kept on keeping on, using the tried and true methods, trying to get my head up out of the morass in order to see the light. The only reason I haven't called is work and habit, nothing more. I don't know if I can, but I would like to change all of that."

He swallowed. " To do that, I need your help. " They were possibly the hardest words he'd ever said.

She squeezed his hands with her own, her grip strong and steady. "You've always had that. I've gotten pretty used to watching your back over the years. You won't get rid of me very easily." Her smile melted the icy numbness he realized had been settling into him ever since he'd gotten to Washington.

He grinned back at her, suddenly elated, and then suddenly worried that she was going to disappear on him before they had a chance to work anything out. "So, do I have to do some maneuvering to make sure they don't think you're AWOL or did Landry let you out of the zoo?"

She moved her hands up his arms, resting them on his shoulders. "Landry let me out."

"How long?" He pulled her closer, his hands against her back.

She smiled into his eyes, hers filled with promise, and then grinned, clearly remembering something amusing. "He gave me fourteen days."

God, this was too good to be true. Fourteen days leave was some sort of record in SGC land. "Really? What did you say to convince him of that?"

She shook her head. "You know, that's the strange thing. I hardly said a word. I just walked into his office and requested some personal leave."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. I didn't even say why or tell him where I was going. I just said 'personal leave' and I could swear I heard him say 'thank god.'"

"What have you been doing to him?"

She grinned again. "Nothing. I don't think it's me. I think it's you."

"Me?"

She laughed. "Yep, because the next thing he said was that 'it was about damned time' and that he needed 'a break from all of the paperwork the Pentagon was dumping' on him. Then he gave me two weeks leave, wished me good luck, and practically pushed me out the door with direct orders to enjoy myself as much as humanly possible and not to come back early no matter how 'irritating the challenge.' "

Jack stared at her, distracted. "He's complaining about me giving him paperwork?"

Her eyes sparkled. "If the stars and bars fit, I guess you have to wear 'em."

"I -- god, Sam." He pulled her close, inhaling the scent of her hair. Suddenly, it all seemed too much. An hour ago, he'd accepted that he was alone, solitary, and now he had Sam Carter in his arms, bringing light and laughter and warmth with her into his life. "It's not going to be easy, you know. I still have to--"

She put her hand up against his lips, silencing him. "I know, Jack. We'll take it a day at a time. We'll work it out."

And with that, he knew they would.

End.


End file.
